You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.
-Abraham Lincoln
Patrick sat on the edge of a deep hole, eating a sandwich and listening to a Radiohead CD on his Walkman. He watched as his coworkers scrambled around the worksite like ants, digging holes and gathering materials for the next phase of the project. George tapped him on the shoulder, starling him. He said something, but Patrick couldn’t hear him over his music. “What was that?” He asked as he removed his headphones. “I said, what you got for lunch?” George said. Patrick shrugged and moved his Walkman so George could sit next to him. “Just a PB&J.” He said. “You?” George shrugged right back. “Same here.” He said with a chuckle as he sat down.
“Lap of luxury, huh?” Patrick joked.
“Only the best.” George added. He sighed and followed Patrick’s gaze over to the worksite. “Listen. I’m not the best at…” He started. “I wanted to thank you.” Patrick regarded him curiously. “For what?” He asked. George laughed. “Don’t be modest, we both know that I never would have gotten this job if you hadn’t saved my ass on the last one.” Patrick shifted, unsure of what to say. “Just trying to do my job.” He said. The two men sat in silence for a moment.
George broke the silence first. “I do this job because I have nothing else.” He said. “I’m not good with people, I’m not particularly smart, I don’t even have hobbies, outside of drinking.” Patrick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit here, George.” He said. “No, I don’t think you are, Pat.” George said, pointedly. “You’re one of the smartest people I have ever met and yet you seem to think you’re a complete d******. I mean, for f***’s sake! What are you doing here?”
Patrick chuckled ruefully. “No one else would have me.” He said.
George scoffed. “Well, they’re stupid.” He said.
Patrick shrugged. “In any case, I appreciate the opportunity.”
George nodded and took a bite of his sandwich. “For the record, I do know that I’m smart, too.” He said with a mouth full of PB&J. “Maybe those guys that passed on you could learn a thing or two from me.” Patrick smiled. “Maybe.” He said.
Patrick got home from work and slumped onto the couch, exhausted. He grabbed the remote and surfed through the different cable channels. He settled on a documentary about Vikings and their different rituals and ceremonies. The monotone British voice that was narrating the documentary was droning on and on about funeral rites. Patrick’s mind began to wander, as it so often did.
He had been at this job for almost a year, now. He hadn’t planned to stay nearly this long, but the money was good and he had a goal to meet. The envelope in his nightstand had grown to a modest $2,500. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it was closer to where he needed it. What happens when I get there? He thought. How will Laila remember me? Will she hate me?
His attention drifted back to the documentary.
Some historian was talking about how, while the Vikings did use pyres for a select few high-status individuals, they never burned them at sea with a flaming arrow. “This concept of a flaming burial-at-sea comes from modern popular culture, not the Vikings.” He said. “Why, then, has this myth endured in nearly all modern stories about Vikings? The normal funeral rites were just as poetic, albeit a bit less theatrical. Why do we feel the need to add drama into a place where drama is already abundant? I believe that, in some ways, it is human nature to romanticize death. The dramatics of death as they stand in the real world are uncomfortable. They possess a certain finality that is hard to comprehend, and so we try our best to add meaning to ease the pain. If there is meaning, then the universe is not entirely cruel. If the universe isn’t cruel, then we need not worry about death ourselves. But this can sometimes distract us from life itself.”
Laila began to frantically call his name from the bathroom, startling Patrick. He jumped to his feet and ran to find her. When he got to the bathroom, he heard sobbing through the door. He opened the door slowly and saw Laila on the floor hyperventilating with her head in the toilet. He quickly knelt down to hold her, stroking her hair as he did. “What happened, baby? Are you ok?” He asked. He heard a chuckle in between her breathless sobs as she held up a white stick with two red lines on the end. Patrick froze as he realized what this meant. That $2,500 was suddenly way too small.
He was going to be a dad.
